


The Christmas Wolf

by milkyway



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Domestic Derek and Stiles, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Music, One Shot, Religion, Roman Catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:58:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2700446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkyway/pseuds/milkyway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles drags Derek to Midnight Mass, Derek begins to understand the true meaning of Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Wolf

The church is pitch-black. All Derek can hear is the joint breathing of the congregation. In the dim light his wolf eyes can make out the statues of Mary and Jesus; the faint glow of the moonlight filters through the stained glass windows. St Francis of Gubbio was not built for the cold, and the winter chill has filtered through easily.

He’s never felt comfortable in churches. But Stiles begged that he come.

“It’s one of the apogees of my faith,” he said. Only Stiles would use a word such as “apogee”, something Derek only encountered regarding the position of the Moon at pack meetings. “Midnight Mass is beautiful.”

Stiles looked at him pleadingly. “Derek, I know you have your reservations about Catholicism. God knows, I do… the scandals, the Inquisition, hell, I know they probably burnt werewolves at the stake but, things have changed.”

“Okay, babe, I’ll come with you. I at least like singing Christmas carols.”

“There you go.”

Suddenly, the bells toll. Twelve clear golden rings. 

The church doors open.

“You may light your candles,” says a voice.

One by one, matches erupt into life, a soft glow grows and illuminates the church, until it glows like the surface of a golden moon.

The priest enters, and speaks in a loud, clear voice. Derek turns around, and sees the great monstrance held out.

“The people who have walked in darkness have seen a great Light. Veni, Veni, Emmanuel.”

The organ starts playing lilting slow arpeggios, rocking the congregation in a gentle cadence as the procession proceeds slowly down the aisle: the priest, deacons, altar boys and girls, eucharistic ministers.

Stiles begins to sing from his position in front of the altar, a rich, caramel tenor. Derek shivers.

“O Holy night, the stars are brightly shining  
It is the night of our dear Savior's birth…”

His voice is one of the most beautiful things he’s ever heard. He knew Stiles had sung in the church choir when he was young, when he still went to Mass with Claudia (despite John’s agnostic protestation). 

“Long lay the world in sin and error pining  
'Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth…”

What is this, Derek things, stirring inside of me? His wolf seems to bouncing up and down with joy. With pure love for his mate. But also a pure love for all the people gathered here at midnight, usually the witching hour, now an hour of light.

 

“A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices  
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn  
Fall on your knees…  
O hear the angel voices…”

And then, the children are assembled around his mate, and they take up the chorus, an angelic harmony supporting the gorgeous melody Stiles sings proudly.

“O night divine!  
O night when Christ was born  
O night divine!  
O night, O night divine!”

When the song is finished, with full organ flourishes, Father McCarthy smiles and raises his hands. 

“Christ is born,” he says simply. “Let us pray.”

For the first time, Derek hears the Nativity narrative as it was meant to be told, directly from the Gospel. It is like a fairy tale, but suffused with a soul. Perhaps it is a fable, he thinks, but what a beautiful fable. And, if I am the Big Bad Wolf who actually existed… maybe… once… in a manger under a bright star…

Did a wolf also come look in awe at the Holy face? Did he perhaps lie down in the corner with the sheep and the donkey, temporarily delivered of his hunger?

Derek will never know. But next to him, having walked quietly down to the pew after his magnificent rendition of Adolphe Adam’s carol, he sees him praying. His face is calm, gentle, his eyes closed in supplication. He can feel the love radiating out of his mate. And it seems to infect him.

And Derek feels accepted. 

Yes, there are issues. The Church is not yet evolved enough to officially sanction their union… not so much that Derek is a werewolf. Father McCarthy didn't bat an eyelid when Stiles told him of Derek’s true nature; the priest simply replied “How interesting. I always knew Beacon Hills had special energy. Werewolves… the Lord must have had interesting thoughts when He made them.” It’s the gay thing. But everyone in the parish knows of Derek and Stiles, and Stiles has never had any bad blood for attending church and being married to a man. 

With the closing hymn and procession after the blessing, Derek is singing Hark the Herald Angels Sing with full force, thrilled, surprised, enchanted.

After Midnight Mass, they sit in front of the fireplace, exchanging gifts, the old European way.

“So you see, you didn’t burst into flames after all, Sourwolf. You know, there are some priests who are werewolves.”

“I know that but… wow, I didn’t expect this to be so beautiful. And you sang like an angel.”

“It was my mom’s favourite Christmas carol.”

“She would be proud of you, my love.” Derek leans over and kisses Stiles on the cheek.

Derek has gotten Stiles a Darth Vader night light, which makes the brunet squeal with joy, as well as the latest Dexter novel. Stiles reciprocates with Derek’s favourite cologne, Azzarro’s Chrome (it drives Stiles wild) and a limited edition box-set of Janis Ian’s entire discography.

“Oh my, Derek, look!” Stiles cries, pointing at the window.

It’s snowing. A million tiny white flakes are falling. They run out, and stand in the front garden, holding each other as the snow comes down.

“Merry Christmas, Stiles,” says Derek, kissing him.

“Merry Christmas, Derek,” his mate replies.

They hug for a long time, Derek breathing deeply, and then he starts humming Winter Wonderland.

And, for the first time, Derek understands the magic that is Christmas.


End file.
